


A Child Indeed

by XirinOfArvada



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Vanyarin Feast, Gen, The House of King Ingwe, The Vanyar, generally light-hearted, some dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XirinOfArvada/pseuds/XirinOfArvada
Summary: Before the Helcaraxë was crossed, and before the events that took place in Gondolin, Salgant was but a child born to a Vanyarin father and a Telerin mother. When his grand-uncle, King Ingwë invites him to a feast at his palace, Salgant gets into a hiccup.
Kudos: 3





	A Child Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> Analcar/Alcarin (Salgant's Father)  
> Mirvendë (Salgant's Mother)  
> Lauremo (Salgant's Father's Cousin)

The smell of sweet and spicy foods, seasoned meats, and fine drinks filtered through his nose. A young prince, wearing fisherman braids, sat on the furthest seat to the left in the table of King Ingwë. Closest to him, sat the dreadful Lauremo – least beloved of the Vanyar Princes and most abhorred. Yet, few things could be considered abhorrent when it came to the young prince.

A round, bubbly face, gazed upon the dances and the songs with delight and wonder. He tapped his fingers on his table to the synchronised beat of drums and sweet-sounding flutes. His name was Salgant, Salgant Nandaro of the House of Ingwë – the youngest besides Laurefindel.

Now, there had not yet been a prince amongst the Vanyar whose blood was mixed with the Teleri. Salgant Nandaro stood strange and queer amid this golden people, with bright blue eyes and pale hair the colour of shimmerless gold. Indeed, his hair resembled silver more than it resembled precious gold. He wore fisherman braids and a conch shell around his neck. Gladly, the conch shell was not lesser in value or worse in taste, yet, it was strange for a prince to wear a shell when his kindred dressed in gemstones and crystals, rather than pearls and shells.

The young prince who wore fisherman braids was privileged to sit at the table of King Ingwë alongside his princely cousins, all donned in the colours of Ingwë's house. His eyes quickly narrowed at the sight of their golden laces, their silk belts, and the rings set with amethyst and diamonds that they wore on their fingers. 

Salgant Nandaro had none of that. His clothes were blue and his cloak was grey with white tassels, woven by his father. His light hair was braided in the fashion of a Telerin fisherman, rather than that of a Vanyarin prince. He wore no ring on his fingers or any adornment on his head and wrists, besides the Telerin, conch-shaped necklace that his grandfather had given to him on his Begetting Day.

He was the commoner in a room of royals. Yet, Ingwë still loved his nephews and his heirs, thus he placed them on the High Table, both to display and honour them. Fortunately for Salgant, his father was King Ingwë's nephew and his mother was King Olwé's youngest daughter.

While technically, his place in the high table was earned without scorn, the truth was that he was as common as the son of a weaver or a bookkeeper. He was as common as the labourer and the soldier. His mother was a harpist and his father was a weaver, yes, a weaver. Could there be anything more embarrassing than that? In Salgant's mind, no, it was not embarrassing at all, his father was well-respected in the village that he grew up in. Prince or otherwise, Salgant loved his father more than the refined silks of the Vanyar or the white sails of the Teleri.

But for the only nephew of High King Ingwë, king of the Vanyar and beloved of Manwé, to leave behind his entire royal family and choose to become a bloody weaver was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to the House of Ingwë.

Some elves believed that Analcar was simply going through a phase, after all, he was always a queer elfling. Salgant was once kept awake by quaint tales concerning his controversial father. His mother once spoke to him when he was young as they sat beside a lake of a time when Analcar was young and he had beheld the shores for the first time. 

Analcar was a prince of the Vanyar, yet his love was the water and the shore. He donned himself in the colours of silver and white. He learned the language of the waves and the mariners amongst the Eldar taught him how to sail on his boat. Salgant had witnessed his father's skill in sailing since he was only a year old. He had gone out to sea with his father too many times that he could no longer keep count of the hours and days they spent under the stars with the light behind their backs in search of catch and adventure, perhaps.

“How unbecoming!”

“How disgraceful!”

“How far shall the son of the brother of our king go to call himself Teleri? He might as well be the son of fishes.”

Analcar kept his head up despite those words. An outcast prince he became. There was no Telerin blood in his veins, yet, whether by blood or by destiny that he was called to the seas, he answered this call and rejected the words of his uncle's councillors.

“He is a pioneer!” They praised. ”First amongst the princes of the Vanyar to become a master of the sails.”

“So graceful and refined.”

“So open-minded and knowledgeable.”

The years passed and they praised him. He was no longer an eflin and the years in the sea had turned him into the strongest of the princes and the most desirable amongst his cousins. However, he listened to the praise of one elf and one maiden only.

Mirvendé of the Teleri, the beloved of Analcar. Youngest she was of the daughters of Olwé and had no inheritance to her name. Her hands were drawn to the music of the harp and she played it with the sweetness of honey and the strength of steel. She was his life, she was his destiny, and he loved her more than the sea or the sails or the fabrics that he adored to weave. There was an unbreakable love between them both and Mirvendé urged him to run with her, henceforth, he did.

The reward of their love was Nandaro, who his father called Salgant. And Salgant forever loved the tales of his mother and his father, to which he listened to every night before he was tucked to bed. Salgant grew to love the harp as his mother did and he sang with her. He studied with her and she loved him greatly – as did Analcar who sought to teach his son the art of weaving his own sails and his own garments as well as to sail the waters in search of catch and adventure.

Those years were gone now and Salgant wished that they would return to him again. There was no adventure, here in the court of his grand-uncle and he had no love for the court of Ingwë.

Sat on the farthest, left-end, of the high table, overlooking the guests and the dancers who danced in the middle of the room. Colourful silks danced before his eyes as they spun and twirled, three maidens, fair-haired, and unwed.

“That one is around your age.” Lauremo, his uncle, whispered to him as they sat next to one another. Salgant glanced at the maiden who was being referred to by his uncle.

“Who is she?” He asked. The maiden's face was concealed by a purple veil, yet she stood taller than the rest of her companions and she was the one who danced with the greatest grace. Her hair was golden and the light of Laurelin was reflected therein.

“Lauretarí Elenwë,” he said. “She is my brother's daughter.”

“Oh.” He did not know how to reply and his throat was sore from the amount of chocolate he had consumed tonight. All around him, lights were flashing and nobles were laughing as they consumed their drinks and dishes, clearly mirthful. Tales were being exchanged and gossip along with them. Jubilation was in the air as the autumn leaves fell and with every second that ticked.

He tapped his fingers on the table, eyeing the last slice of ham and cheese on the plate. It was too close to his uncle whose hands were stained with grease and whose lips smacked as he ate. He wanted it though and the melted cheese looked too appetising for him to relinquish to his uncle.

He had more space in his belly and he was already a bit chubby so he might as well. His mother could smack his head later and reprimand him for eating too much. But food was life so he grabbed the last slice and placed it on his plate. He did not realise that he almost knocked off his uncle's wine glass, for it did not matter. What mattered was that he got the last slice

“Oy!” Lauremo exclaimed as Salgant was about to have a bite. The twenty-two year old looked up mid-bite and Lauremo looked furious. "Hand that back. It's mine.”

He blinked at him before he stuffed everything in his mouth. He snickered, his cheeks puffed out as he ate whilst his uncle looked at him in utter anger.

“Peace.” Analcar placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. Salgant looked over to his father and he gave him a cheeky grin. “He is a child. Do not be petty, my cousin.”

“Petty?” Lauremo stood up and slammed his fist into the table. The loud bang rang throughout the hall and there was silence as the guests looked upon the livid prince. “Your son took my portion and you are calling me petty?”

Salgant swallowed his food in a hurry and almost choked on it. He got some water to ease the passage of food down his esophagus.

Analcar rubbed his face and he faced his cousin calmly. “Like I just said, Lauremo. He is a child. I will discipline him for the lack of manners, but please, do not cause a scene, for in fact, you have already began one.”

Lauremo opened his mouth to reply when he saw that the audience had their faces towards him. The guests murmured amongst themselves and Salgant was sure he heard one of them say that Lauremo was a disgrace. Indeed, Salgant agreed. He was a disgrace for not wiping his mouth before he spoke and for using his pants as a napkin for his hands. He almost felt sorry for whoever was going to be washing his clothes. Imagine having to take all the grease and oil off.

“Lauremo.” This time, it was Ingwë who spoke and his voice was deep. “Sit down, my nephew.”

“Yes, uncle.” With everyone against him, Lauremo sat down straight and he wore a firm face. Salgant thought that this was hilarious and had his father not reminded him earlier of his manners, he would have snorted and burst out into laughter. However, he did not miss the glare that his uncle sent to his direction. 

In response to the glare, Salgant held up his glass of orange juice and he grinned. “Happy Autumn Fest, I hope you get an aneurysm tonight.” He took a sip of his juice and Lauremo's face reddened. Chuckles rippled through the high table and Ingwë patted his nephew's shoulder.

“He's a child. Let him be.” Salgant heard his grand-uncle say. Yes! Indeed, a child he was and a child he should be allowed to be. Smirking at angry Lauremo, Salgant took a bite of lemon pie and enjoyed the feast.

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeey! Thank you so much for reading this. Indeed, I have very different headcanons about well.. the Vanyar, the House of Ingwë, and Salgant. But I still hope that you found it enjoyable.


End file.
